


Roll for (Psychic) Perception

by WithAMintOfHint



Category: Psych
Genre: Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, Characters play D&D, Dragonborn (D&D), Gen, RPG
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:13:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithAMintOfHint/pseuds/WithAMintOfHint
Summary: Shawn Spencer isn't one for nerd games. He's cool. He doesn't live in his parent's basement and has a hot girlfriend. He's interested in those. But when a world-famous Dungeonmaster rolls a 1 on not dying, Shawn may have to pretend to be interested in fantasy boardgames- before the whole gameplayers are killed off.





	Roll for (Psychic) Perception

**Author's Note:**

> Look! My first writing thing! :D

A pair of dice clinks against the wood of the floor, toppling, turning, tumbling…

“I rolled a two. Is that good?” Shawn prods as Gus only sighs, rubbing a hand on his forehead, brows quirked in a rather annoyed- nay, frustrated face. Shawn props his elbows on the floor and his chin in his hands, cheeks full of the plethora of bubble gum he was chewing. The amount was probably unhealthy. You may as well spoon feed him pure cane sugar with a ladle and let it rot.

“Two is bad, Shawn.” Gus frowns and leans on his criss-crossed-apple-sauced knees, snagging a Fudgee Cookie from the package close by. “You,” He turns to the folder in front of him, carefully brushing aside plotted maps on graph paper to examine a sheet of notebook paper. He claps his hands and lets out a chuckle of malicious delight. “You turn down the hall and find yourself trapped between the basilisk and a wall- Oh, what now?”

Shawn lowers his curved fingers, which he has raised in question. “First, don’t eat all the cookies, those are my favorites. Second of all, what is a barracuda?”

“Bas-il-isk, and it can turn you to stone with a stare.”

“Oh, then I blink.”

Gus rolls his eyes. “Blink.”

“Yeah!” The boy shifts onto his side, smirking. “I blink really hard for a really long time and run at the basil-disk.”

"So... you run at it... with your eyes closed."

"Why not?"

With another eyeroll and scribble on his sheet, Gus looks up when Henry sticks his head in. “Boys, what are- what is this.”

Gus beams, straightening up. “A game!”

Henry surveys the mess of scraps, papers, and junk food, pursing his lips in reasonable suspicion. “What kind of game has so much-” He stops and stoops to pull a map off his shoe- “graphing paper?”

“That’s what I said! But Gus bribed me.” Shawn declares as he sits up fully and Henry shakes his head.

“Shawn, these games are based on luck. Now, luck can only get you so far.” Henry plops down with a slight groan, picking up the dice. “What are you trying to do now?”

“Well, Gthorndall here is running from a… Brontosar-?”

“Basilisk.” Gus interrupts before Shawn can butcher his plots yet again.

Henry blinks slowly. “A what?”

“Yes! Thank you! No one knows what those are!” Shawn hoots as Gus shakes his head.

“Well, dedicated players do. And you do too, cuz you’re about to be turned to marble.” He kisses his teeth, reclining. “You could run, and I could give you plus four for agility.”

“I close my eyes really tight and run at the basil disk.”

“Fine.” Gus hands him the dice and kisses his teeth again, smack satisfying to the Dungeon Master. “Roll.”

Shawn shakes, rattles, and rolls the dice. “Oh! A twenty!”

Gus flings himself forward as Henry giggles, mouth still taught in a line. “What? No, that’s impossible!”

“You heard Gthorndall! I am the victor!” Shawn sits back. “Now, I win, right?”

____

 

Shawn Spencer liked to consider himself lucky. Like his dad. And gramps. Family thing. Was it his charming Scottish side or what? Wait, was the luck an Irish thing? Wait… was he even Irish?

But he had gotten roped into the worst night of his life. “I don’t wanna do this, man. So many thirty-year-olds have crawled from their parents’ basement to get here.” Shawn tsked and looked at a rather smug and pleased Gus, who had a worn and used folder under his arm.

“You promised.” Gus grabbed Shawn’s arm and dragged him into the long convention hall, which just so happened to be hosting the final tournament of Dragons and Dungeons.

Shawn sighed and allowed himself to be dragged. He deserved this. He told Gus once, just once, “Thanks, man, I owe you.”

Rule of thumb: never let Gus Owe you one.


End file.
